Wow. I'm updating this alot more quickly than I suspected I would have. Oh, well.
Nyah ha, I shall reply to my beautful reviewer peoples! Chuu chuu ku...
invader tom: Well... that was an interesting dialouge scene thing. yes... waidaminute, MY SQUEE! (huggles squee and steals him away from you... not necessarily in that order) Nyah ha... everybody loves Squeegey... All three of the kids have nickanes like that: One's Squee, the other is squeegee, and the other one is Squeegum... Fwee... Invader Tom, you remind me of one the people that I RP with on The World... different website, don't ask. You remind me of someone, I just can't place the bleeding name... Nyah, never mind. If I think any deper in this weary state of mind, I believe I might pass out right here at my computer terminal. Stay tuned! I think you're enjoying it...
piewolvesandsuch: My opinions on my suckatcular writing skills are actually somewhat amusing and fit in without vexing any soul out there? o.o Wow. That was dramatically stated. Anyways, thanks for liking my rather annoying Anatha Notes (no, not Authors Notes, Anatha's Notes)... You wouldn't ahve to suck in your breath and turn blue like a smerf then flop over and decease from this mterial world just because I had forgotten to insert pathetic criticisms on my own work. That would kind of suck... having one of the best reviewers for this Fic suddenly flipping over dead would immensely suck... but my Anatha Notes are actual wuvved by someone who is not my magical monkey plushie dubbed Reki... nyah ha, I'm so happy now.
icekweem23: Oooh... you reviewed again, meaning I'm still appreciated. Yes, I know I'm another bloody fangirl, and I am not oblivious to the factor that I mentioned it in my reply from the last chapter, but thaz not le point... and I don't blame you for being frightened. Fans can frighten everyone, can't they? Until Johnny stabbed your eyes and made you devour them on a barbeque stick? Why can't I think of something creative like that? My creativity lacks in homicide situations... nyah, I feel so... outcast-like... dun dun dun dun... BEETHOVEN! Well,I do think my writing's crap. It is! Well, I suppose it kind of has to be... I'm only twelve years old and inexplicably stupid, I'm not suppose to have writing talents, or anything like that. The only good thing thatI can do with a bloody mechanical pencil is draw a detailed stick fugure, and even that sometimes sucks. But, yes, your positive reviews still make me feel like flying... yet maneuvering in time when a jet zips by in homicidal attempts of deceasing my being. o.o But as I said before in my previous reply, yes, you should write a Johnny fic! You have the proper writing skills/talents/creativity/homicidal perspective(I envy you, human) to write a marvelous fanfiction of our protagonist, Nny! I' ish looking forward to it in the future... I never thought anyone would ever describe Felix as motherly though... I never thought of that. But, yes,I found out that it isn't easy living with someone like Johnny at all...I had to spend a week with my hill-billy cousins. They took football way too seriously... I am looking forward to your fic, and I ish pleased that you ae... er, pleased with the storyline so far!
di: I am not so sure how to respond to your... response, but I'm just going to say, "Tune in for this chapter and review for the next one."
Nyah,I ish half-asleep as I post this... and I'm probably going to be sleeping when you read this introduction and chapter. So, if it sucks, pin the blame on the string of insomnia that has been dreadfully shadowing my sleeping patterns... nyah. Well, enjoy! ...
Diary Entry #1
Felix had almost screamed an obscene curse word when the run-down, shitty door of House 777 flung open to reveal a maniacal, grinning Johnny framed in the entryway. He was still coated with dried lifeblood that had scabbed over his clothes, his crimson-stained hand clutching a large white paper bag with the wind bearing the aroma of Mexican goodness throughout the household. She tilted her head though, subconsciously clicked the red power button on the remote control and leaned forward to observe tiny reddish-brown blots on the bag, close to where his skeletal fingers were gripping. She blinked, hoping it wasn't what she suspected it to be, and inquired, "What did you get?"
"Four tacos," Nny began, opening the bag a little bit to ensure his answer accurately. "A burrito and half of a quesadilla!"
She inclined her head farther to the right. Only half? She mused silently, blinking. "Half a quesadilla?" she repeated verbally, her gaze projected directly towards the bag. "Why only half?"
"You see," Johnny stared, crossing his arms behind his bony spine, which resulted the Taco Hell bag to be concealed. "When the cashier woman gave me our order, she commented on my appearance. Someone so questionable and stereotypical was surely undeserving of such a bliss customarily known as life, and—"
"I don't want to hear anymore!" Felix interjected loudly, clamping her slender hands over her ears frantically. She had been scarred enough already, and most definitely she did not need any more homicide tales to reap her once peaceful reveries. Sighing, she glanced back up to Nny (whose lips was pouted out in grand annoyance), climbed back to her feet from the sofa, and daringly took a step towards him. "You killed this cashier woman, didn't you?"
Johnny blinked. The sudden crinkling of paper announced to the girl that his grip on the Taco Hell bag had increased vaguely, leaning forward slightly to what she could have presumed (in alarm) to be a menacing stance. "Silently labeling me a 'faggot' ((A/N: Yes. I am twelve years old and I already know these words, I go to a trouble middle school where everybody's… frightening. Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun… leaves me alone. Nuu!)) --and commenting on my typical appearance is not exactly appeasing, so—"
But quickly, Felix had cut him off.
"You used the other half of our meal, the bloody quesadilla to kill the cash register lady!?" she exclaimed, half amazed, half horrified. "How the hell did you manage to murder somebody with half of a bloody quesadilla…!?"
"You know what happens when something large is lodged into the essential wind pipe to the very pit of your lungs while the tips of the Mexican meal slice at the internal organs, yes?"
"Yes."
Silence.
Felix blinked. "I honestly wished I had not asked," she muttered dreadfully, hardly audible for the homicidal Johnny to catch. Looking more closely though at the Taco Hell take-out bag as Johnny pinned his arms habitually to his sides once again, the small blobs of red were splattered still… it was unmistakable she realized, swallowing back bile once again. 'Twas most definitely gore. Her bottom lip jutted out in disgust but mostly fright, and her brow was furrowed in yet typical confusion. "Perhaps, I'll eat some other time," she suggested, nodding slightly as if she were agreeing with herself. Yep, that might be the safest thing to do…
Oh, how wrong she was…
Johnny's eyes expanded dramatically as her statement fully sunk in, his right optic twitching characteristically. His posture was suddenly more erect, and his eyelid continued its typical writhing helplessly. Before the female could ask if his condition was alright (and normal), he had cried out in what seemed to be exasperation and tremendous rage, "YOU MADE ME GET TACOS FOR NOTHING!?!"
Her eyes widened. "Johnny, I never made you do any—"
"I WENT OUT, GOT INSULTED, MURDERED, BARELY ESCAPED FROM THE MODERATORS OF THE INSANE ASYLUM WHILST WASTING HALF OF A PERFECTLY GOOD QUESIDILLA, JUST SO YOU CANNOT CONSUME A FUCKING PIECE OF IT!? SHIT!"
"Nny, I volunteered to get it, remem—"
"YOU SPEAK LIES, VILE CHILD OF DECEIT! DISPICABLE LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEESSSS!"
"I'LL EAT IT, FINE! I'LL EAT THE DAMN TACO! PLEASE, DON'T DO ANYTHING DRASTIC, I'LL EAT THE DAME TACO!!"
Johnny ceased his screaming, panting vaguely, but his spine slumped slightly in relaxation. "Really?" he said, tilting his head innocently at the scarred Felix It was so hard to believe that he was screaming at her just seconds before…
Felix twitched vaguely and slowly shuffled backwards to retrieve her black bag. "I'm going to go to my room, and enjoy my tacos," she informed him hoarsely, her mouth still dry with fright. "I will eat my tacos, I promise…" Her voice was noticeable still vibrating with shock at the thought of her yet again nearly shaking hands with her demise. "Please, just don't ki—"
Already knowing what she was going to so frantically implore, the homicidal maniac bowed his head solemnly and crossed his bony arms behind his spine. He slunk out of the chamber to the neighboring, unoccupied room, the bloodstained taco bag dropped to the ground in mid-meander. He was much too used to see that dreadful twinkle in an organism's eye when his aura was in range, those much too familiar words, "I promise, just don't kill me." How many of his victims had ever implored to him but had end up dead anyways? Almost every single one of them, he supposed… he had no intention on killing her, well, at least not at the moment anyways.
People make way too many presumptions of the poor vessel.
She observed Johnny slink into the neighboring room, and sighed, a pang of guilt strumming her heart strings like a melancholy guitar. She released another confused sigh, bent down and snatched up the taco bag and retreated down the hallway towards her room.
Skulking down the hallway, she hastened her already quick pace past the chamber that Johnny currently inhabited. Out of the corner of her eye as she zipped by though, she had caught a brief glimpse of Johnny scribbling something down in what appeared to be an ebony diary. She blinked as she slowed her pace slightly; a random thought occurred the back of her head. Did Johnny keep a diary? Did most homicidal maniacs keep a diary? ((A/N: (hides journal) Yes…))
Dismissing the thought with a wag of her head, she turned the corner to enter her room, ducking her head as she let the taco bag fall to the floorboards and pull her side-bag off and onto the ground besides it. "Why didn't I sleep in here last night?" she murmured to herself, surprised that she had not.
The room she had taken? Johnny had allowed her one of the less-used rooms of his little shack-of-a-house, and she was delighted when he gave her consent to decorate it the way she would have liked. There was hardly anything in it, but she managed to bargain herself a flimsy mattress she had purchased at a garage sale down the street, and for free was thrown in a thin-layered gray blanket to cover it. It did not bother her though; she was naturally patient and accepting, so, she thought it better to have something shitty to keep her warm instead of nothing. That was always better, now wasn't it? She was somewhat disappointed though that there were no windows installed in the depressingly blank white walls. She always liked looking outside… but, no one can receive all of the things that they desire, so, 'twas yet another thing to deal with and not complain about. The floorboards were of course there, and the constant scuttling of her vessel retreating back and forth upon the dust-laden ground had imprinted boot prints here and there where she had stepped. One night when Johnny was out (killing people, Felix now predicted), she had decided to explore the kitchen for pleasure and found a drawing in one of the many drawers. It seemed to be an angry stick figure with a few hairs, someone whom Johnny must have spawned from his enigmatic, twisted mind. At the bottom, in sloppy bubble letters, was printed, "HAPPY NOODLE BOY." It was ironic to the young girl, though, for the stick man seemed did not seem very happy at all. Anyways, she had found a thumbtack in an abandoned desk in the room next door and had thumb tacked it to the wall besides the doorframe. If it were not for this angry-looking noodle-man, her bedroom walls would have been completely uneventful.
Felix picked up her tacos, and plopped herself down a creaky mattress, the springs inside of it squeaking dangerously beneath her lightweight. She was relieved when she accounted all of her tacos to be free of blood and gore, and withdrew one from the taco trench of the Taco Hell bag. Who the hell was she kidding earlier? She loved tacos, and after uttering such taco blasphemy about losing her appetite—that will be the day when aliens abduct little Todd next door for experimenting after tricking two other idiotic aliens into thinking he was a Batman plushie. But, Johnny seemed to hardly eat… she offered him consumables multiple times, and multiple times he had politely refused. It sort of worried her…
Shrugging her vague worries away once again, her brown eyes glanced to the corner of her mattress. It was a green 70 page college ruled notebook, with .:: FeliX ::. scribbled in white-out for the cover title. Sighing, she crunched a good, healthy hunk out of the bottom-left corner of her taco, and obtained her cerulean mechanical pencil that was lying helplessly besides the mattress, awaiting its time for usage.
It was her dairy, of course. Most of the humanoid beings of the feminine half of the race had at least one in possession. So why would she be in different? She was like every other girl or woman out in the world; she needed something to jot down her ridiculous, silly thoughts, her miscellaneous ideas and feelings, the past day's events, didn't she? Just like everybody else…
Well, that answers my question to why Johnny has a diary, I suppose, she thought idly, allowing her skeletal finger to flip a dog-eared page. I think.
With that last thought in her head, she clicked her thumb to the eraser of the mechanical pencil, and began to scribble down a brief memorandum.
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Dear Diary,
I moved in with a nice man named Johnny a few days ago and he just so happens to be a homicidal maniac. Isn't that convenient?
What the fuck was I thinking?
Sincerely,
Felix
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Johnny glanced up to the doorway to see Felix pas by in the direction of her chambers. He sighed and shook his head, and glanced back down to his journal, reviewing what he had written so far.
Dear Die-Ary,
I let a nice little girl move in with me titled Felix, who just so happens to be another fucking thorn in my side.
What the fuck was I thinking?
An insane grin split his face, hunching his shoulders up with glee as he outstretched his arms in admiration for his entry. Oh, the wonderful truths of Jonathan Colt. Withdrawing his bony arms back, he continued:
But, perhaps she will not be like the others. Maybe those nights when the stars are peering down on every soul on the face of the world and I need someone there with me to peer at them back, I won't have to wish anymore. She knows who I am, what I have committed, and yes, still she remains, although through her russet-colored eyes I see a trembling little youth. She is either brave, desperate or immensely foolish. But, something tells me, she can keep my sanity in check without driving me over the brink.
----- J.C.
Johnny's maniacal grin slowly faded into the typical frown of doubt as he scribbled down this paragraph. She did know who he was, the crimes he had committed, and yes indeed, she did stay. But, only because she does not have enough money to last her all the way home and she would rather live under a roof with an outcast like him then under the laughing stars alone. He sighed, his eyes reviewing the last line once again:
… something tells me, she can keep my sanity in check without driving me over the brink …
He arched an eyebrow as he quickly snapped his diary shut, holding it with his shoulder slouched up so the journal was concealing the bottom half of his face from half of his nose down.
He highly doubted that a ditz like Felix will be able to keep anything from tumbling off the edge of sanity.
Well, I hope you people liked it. I hated it, but okay. Drop a review pweez, and you shall all recieve your own pair of kitchen shears! Oh, the immense slightly-morbid joy! Nyah ha... stay tuned for the next chapter!
.::.:.::AnathA::.:.::.